


Better

by unsettled



Series: And How it Works is This: [5]
Category: Inception (2010), RocknRolla (2008)
Genre: Multi, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-01
Updated: 2010-12-01
Packaged: 2017-10-13 11:37:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/136916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unsettled/pseuds/unsettled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"That's too bad," Yusuf tells him. "Because you are going to eat this, if I have to feed you myself.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Better

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scrapbullet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrapbullet/gifts).



> For my poor sick scrapbullet.

The bowl lands before him with a thud, the pale colored soup inside nearly sloshing over the edges.

Eames looks up from where he's huddled on the couch. "I," he informs Yusuf, "do not want to eat _anything_."

"That's too bad," Yusuf tells him. "Because you are going to eat this, if I have to feed you myself. It's been two _days_ since you ate something and how you are not starving I don't know."

Eames groans. "It'll only come back up," he says plaintively, hoarsely.

"Well maybe it _won't_!" Yusuf's voice is sharp and louder than his usual calm quiet, upsetting, unsettled, worried. "You have to eat something! You're only going to make yourself _sicker_!"

Johnny's head pops around the edge of the door, warily. He's watching them both with his mouth set in a tight line. Eames knows how much Johnny hates it when they fight.

He sighs; the air catches in the back of his throat and sets him to coughing, each gasp of breath setting off another cough, until he's hunched over and feeling more like he's retching dryly than simply coughing, hacking and wheezing and tasting something vile in the back of his throat. He suppresses them, finally, breathing harshly; looks up to see both Yusuf and Johnny hovering over him, helplessly and anxious. Johnny's hands are fisted at his sides, his back tight and curled, while Yusuf's hands are half raised, futile and shaking.

He falls back against the couch cushions and closes his eyes, lets himself collapse. God, he's so _tired_. He just wants to sleep for a week, but he can't, now can he? Not when lying down makes his throat and nose stopper up so he's fighting to breath, not when every few minutes he's shaken out of his doze by coughs that feel like someone's trying to yank out his lungs, not when he's got that jittery, antsy feeling that probably means he's got a fever, too.

"I don't want to throw up again," he whispers.

There's a sudden weight against his side; he opens his eyes. Johnny's curled himself next to him, feet tucked under him and head pressed into Eames' side, hands resting flat on his back and stomach. Johnny, who's been avoiding him for five days now, who has a fear of getting sick like nothing Eames has ever seen. His body is tense and trembling, eyes closed. Eames lays a hand on the top of his head, tangles his fingers in his hair, gently. Johnny sighs and with that breath, the tension leaves his body, until he is boneless and soft despite his angles.

"I'm sorry," Yusuf says. "I'm sorry. I hate seeing you sick." He reaches for Eames' face, his hand stopping just short. "I don't know how to make you better."

Eames has nothing to say to that. Nothing he can say. Yusuf is so clever with all his drugs and chemicals – but none of them are designed to make things better. He reaches toward the bowl still steaming on the table, trying not to disturb Johnny. "No," Yusuf says. He scoops the bowl up and seats himself on the coffee table, and proceeds to do just as he'd threatened; feed Eames, spoonful by spoonful.

Eames can't smell a thing, can't hardly taste either, but it's good soup. It doesn't hit his stomach like lead, like acid, like it's going to bounce right back up. When Yusuf decides he's had enough, he sets the bowl aside and leans forward, places a kiss on Eames' forehead. Moves to the couch and settles himself on Eames' other side, pulls Eames back against his chest.

Sandwiched between them, Eames feels warm for the first time in days.


End file.
